


no remedy for memory

by kingandqueeninthenorth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 19:17:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingandqueeninthenorth/pseuds/kingandqueeninthenorth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He waged his war on the battlefield while his sister fought her battles in the Red Keep. He struck his enemies down with a sword while she delivered blows through carefully crafted pleasantries. He armored himself in steel, she in her courtesy</p>
            </blockquote>





	no remedy for memory

“Will you let me see?” he asks gently, running a hand down her back. The notches in her spine feel too prominent beneath his hand.

They sit cross-legged on his bed, facing each other. The only light in the room comes from the fire burning in the hearth, and it casts shadows on Sansa’s face. She looks even more hollow eyed and gaunt than she does in the light of day.

He’s certain she’s going to refuse when she turns her back to him, but then she drops the shoulder of her robe. He sucks in a sharp breath when he sees the mottled bruises on her shoulder. She flinches at the sound, and he regrets making a spectacle of her injuries.

“Is there more?” The answer frightens him more than he would ever admit. He wants to see what she suffered, and more than anything, he wants to see what  _he_ is responsible for.

She gives him a small nod and drops the robe further, letting it fall around her waist to the bed where she sits. She crosses her arms over her chest and stares at her lap. Even in the dim light, he can see she is bruised and battered beyond belief. Robb aches to offer her some sort of comfort, but the only thing he manages to do is sweep her hair off her neck and over one shoulder. His hand lingers there and she catches it with her own, entwining their fingers.

It gives him a meager sense of relief to feel her hand in his own. His eyes trail down the length of Sansa’s spine, taking note of every wound that mars her ivory skin. The sight of them puts his stomach in knots. He cautiously adjusts the robe around her waist to reveal a bruise on her hip so dark that he can’t even fathom what kind of force was put behind it.

He doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath, and he releases it in a hiss.

 Sansa pulls her robe back on hastily and tugs it tight around her. “Have you seen enough?” She keeps her back to him, but he can see her shame pressing heavily upon her. She’s far too young to have grief so permanently etched into her features.

 _I would have taken her place in a heartbeat. It should have been me they were beating,_ he thinks sullenly. “I can’t take back what’s been done, but I swear to you, no one will ever touch you again. I will keep you safe, whatever it takes.”

She looks at him over her shoulder, her eyes wet with tears.

He swallows the lump in his throat. “I’m going to put everything back together again.”

She turns away at that, her body wracked by a sudden sob.

He pulls her toward him until she sits in his lap, her on his shoulder and her fists clenched in his shirt. After a moment, she starts pounding on his chest. Her fists are small and her strength even smaller, but her anger is like nothing he has ever seen. Robb lets her punch him over and over again, wondering who she is most furious at. The Lannisters, or her brother? Who is more at fault? The ones who beat her mercilessly and made her their prisoner, or Robb, who didn’t come for her?

He is lucky he even got her back, and that fact disturbs him more than anything. The Lannisters could’ve killed her to exact their last vengeance against the North before Stannis seized the throne. But they hadn’t, and Robb was eternally grateful.

He holds her even after she has quieted, her heart hammering against him from exertion.

“It wasn’t like the songs for me either, Sansa.”

—-

He waged his war on the battlefield while his sister fought her battles in the Red Keep. He struck his enemies down with a sword while she delivered blows through carefully crafted pleasantries. He armored himself in steel, she in her courtesy.

Sansa speaks of what happened in a quiet, quivering voice. Sometimes she trails off and he can see her falling back into the dark hole she climbed out of. When she recalls what happened, it’s as if she’s back in King’s Landing. Sometimes he has to grasp her hand or give her a gentle shake to break her from her reverie.

He can see her being struck over and over again in his head: fists in her stomach and the flat of a blade against her back. It was his fault that any of it happened, as though he brutalized her himself. The thought makes him sick to his stomach.  

She does not think herself brave or cunning. To hear her tell it, she lost every battle, but he listens without interrupting. He knows how strong she is, even if she doesn’t.

Robb has never understood the side of battle that is fought with gold and ravens and words. It was his downfall, in the end.  _If I’d had Sansa’s counsel, I might’ve won,_ he muses one night. It’s a strange thought, that his sister could’ve been his saving grace.

“I don’t want you to speak of it,” he says. “Not if you don’t want to.”

Her reaction is not the one he expects. She frowns, her gaze turning hard. “I won’t act as though it didn’t happen.”

He blinks, uncertain of what he’s supposed to say. “You’re very brave, Sansa.”

She has nothing to say to that.

—-

“I don’t like the way they look at me,” she confides as she laces a long strand of ribbons together. Her fingers work deftly with the silk as she creates an intricate leash for Grey Wind that he will inevitably destroy.

“Who?” he asks, watching his direwolf nuzzle against his sisters as she weaves.

“Everyone.” She focuses on her plaits. “Everyone is always staring at me.”

“I don’t think they quite know how to…act. What you went through…it’s a sensitive subject that none of them will ever understand. They don’t want to hurt you more by saying or doing the wrong thing.”

Her braiding becomes quicker, her movements agitated. “I don’t want their pity.”

“I know, Sansa. But what else can they do? They can’t begin to comprehend what it was you suffered. Not even I can.” He pauses. “They don’t know what to feel. And I don’t, either.”

She drops the leash in frustration and looks at him with steely eyes. “My suffering is just another thing I must endure alone. This isn’t a surprise,” she snarls. Grey Wind sits beside her and she grabs onto him, pressing her cheek against his fur. “But I won’t have everyone walking on eggshells around me.”

“You aren’t alone,” he reminds her softly. “I’m here.”

Her blue eyes stare at him from behind Grey Wind, her nose buried in his fur and her arms wrapped tightly around the wolf. Her gaze is so cold that his skin prickles. Grey Wind makes a low, protective rumbling noise that startles Robb. He’s never been on the receiving end of any of the direwolf’s threats. A queer sense of jealousy consumes him. It should be him she clings to, not his wolf.

“Let me be here for you,” he pleads. “Please.”

Her face softens and she slowly releasing Grey Wind, whose fury ebbs with hers. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she murmurs.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he replies instantly, his voice a little too sharp. It feels like a reflex, defending his sister.

She goes back to braiding her leash in silence.

—-

Joffrey may be dead, but he lives on in Sansa’s nightmares. His sister is home, safe, but a part of her remains in King’s Landing. Sometimes, it’s like she never left.

He checks on her every night. He lingers in her doorway much longer than he needs to, holding his breath. If he finds her tossing and turning, he wakes her and wipes the tears away. If he finds her sleeping peacefully, he sits beside her bed to make sure she stays that way. Either way, he spends his nights in her room and he doesn’t sleep.

He can never bring himself to close his eyes; he has to stay awake to keep her nightmares away. He’d never sleep again if it meant Sansa could sleep dreamlessly. He owes her at least that much.

He finds that he likes watching over her at night. They’ve spent so much time apart; he can barely stand to leave her, even when she sleeps. Their time together is precious, and he’s determined not to waste it.

—- 

She sits by his feet while he is at his father’s desk, sorting through Winterfell’s accounts. Robb is content to sit in silence with her as he works out sums, balancing his House’s coin. Sansa’s fingers are tangled in Grey Wind’s hair, scratching the wolf as he sleeps beside her.

He gives a muffled grunt when he sees the expense of his repairs of the castle so far.

She touches his leg gently and looks up at him. “How bad is it?” she asks, a weary look on her face.

He shrugs, preferring to keep the cost to himself. The last thing Sansa needs is something new to worry about. They have enough coin to make the repairs, and that’s all that matters.

“Do we have enough?” He can hear the worry in her voice, and he wants nothing more than to kiss her forehead and make it better, like he did when they were younger. But she isn’t a little girl any longer. She left Winterfell a child and came back a woman, and Robb missed it all.

“Yes. Don’t worry, Sansa. I’m going to fix everything,” he assures her as he writes in the ledger. There’s still so much left that needs fixing, which means he will have to spend more soon enough.

After awhile, she asks, “Do you want to fix me?”

He looks up from his ledger, his heart in his throat. “You don’t need to be fixed, Sansa. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Do you still love me?”

The question startles him. “What?”

Her face flickers with doubt, and Robb’s stomach lurches.

“Gods, Sansa. Of course I do. I love you.” He waits for her to say something, but she keeps quiet. “Why would you even ask that?”

She hesitates. “I’m not who I used to be,” she explains in a tremulous voice. “I’m…less than I was.”

 _Less._ The word stings. She has been forgiving where he is concerned, but she can’t seem to forgive herself for the way she has changed. His sister is more somber, but she’s still Sansa, even though she hardly seems to realize it.

“I’m broken. There’s nothing left. They took it all,” she says softly.

Rage fills him. He pushes his chair away from the desk and kneels beside Sansa, putting his  hands on either side of her face. He keeps his tone steady. “You are not broken. You are not less. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re Sansa. My Sansa. That hasn’t changed. It will never change. I love you and I always will.”

She stares back at him, emotionless, but she nods.

 _Broken_. The word leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

—-

Robb has the cooks make lemon cakes as a surprise for Sansa. He even tries to make one himself under their instruction, but it isn’t nearly as pretty as the others. When they’re done, he arranges the cakes as artfully as he can on the platter, and calls for his sister.

She squeals when she sees the cakes and throws her arms around Robb with such force that he stumbles backward, struggling to keep his balance.

Grey Wind bounds into the kitchen when he hears all the commotion and runs straight into the stool where Robb had set the platter of lemon cakes. The direwolf sends the cakes flying before they hit the ground, and Robb yells at him so loudly that he fears he’ll startle Sansa.

Instead, she laughs.

All of the cakes are ruined, but Sansa laughs. Her surprise lies on the floor, splattered and smashed. Robb spent more coin than he’d like to admit to get the lemons needed, and the cooks had slaved in the kitchen to make them perfect. But they were ruined, and all the effort that went into them was now wasted.

Sansa laughs, smiling as she kisses Grey Wind and thanking Robb over and over again for the cakes she never even tasted. He can feel her shaking with laughter as she hugs him and kisses his cheek. She laughs so hard he thinks she might burst.

Everything is ruined. Her childhood, her innocence, her home, and now her lemon cakes, but Robb has never seen her happier.

King’s Landing didn’t get the best of his sister.

—-

“Robb,” Sansa murmurs when he comes to sit beside her bed. She’s half asleep, but she says his name like a prayer and it makes something stir inside him.

“Sleep, Sansa,” he cajoles, his voice thick with an emotion he can’t define. “I’m here.”

She blinks her bleary eyes at him. “You’re so good to me.”

Guilt twists in his stomach. He owes her everything after what happened to her, but she’s grateful as if she doesn’t deserve it. She loves him despite everything. He’s her big brother, and she still adores him. He was supposed to keep her safe, and he failed, but she still loves him.

She reaches for him, grabbing his hands and pulling him into bed with her. “You never sleep. It’s my fault.”

They lay facing each other, so close that he can feel her breath on his lips. “I sleep just fine.”

“You were always a terrible liar.” She stares at him, her blue eyes a reflection of his own. Looking at Sansa is like looking at himself in a mirror. They’ve always looked so similar, and it gives him a strange feeling of satisfaction.

Their lips collide in sudden passion.

 _Do you still love me?_ He remembers her question all too vividly. She shouldn’t have to ask. She should know. He wants her to know. He wants to remind her over and over again.

His hands trip over themselves as he tries to get her out of her nightgown, adrenaline making him eager and clumsy. It tears as he struggles to get her out of it, but Sansa hardly seems to notice.

Her bright auburn hair spills over the ivory skin of her shoulders, the dying embers of the fire in her hearth reflecting in the strands. He smoothes his fingers through the fall of her hair, watching as her blue eyes grow heavy lidded with want.

He ghosts kisses over her lips, her eyes, her nose. He tilts her chin up with his finger to expose her throat, running his tongue along the slender column of her neck. He feels her shudder as he slides his hand from her throat to her breasts, splaying his hands over them. She fits so perfectly to his hands that it feels like they were meant for this, however sinful it is. He dips his head to the valley between her breasts and she arches her back to meet him, an invitation he has no chance of resisting. He kisses her breastbone, tasting the salt of her skin as he puts a hand on her back, tracing her spine with his fingers. He stops at the small of her back and lifts her up towards him, against the sweet ache that has built inside him.

 _Yes, I love you._ He kisses the heated skin of her breasts, his hands following the curve of her hips.  _Yes, I love you._  He leans over her to nip at the corner of her mouth.  _Yes, I love you._  She moans, her body yielding to him.  _Yes, I love you._

She presses herself to him, every inch of them fitting together, like two halves of a whole. The feeling of her skin on his is enough to make him come undone. Her hips move against his with a rhythm that makes him throb. He works his hands between her legs, eliciting such a sweet sound from her that he can no longer wait.

 _Yes, I love you._ He pushes into her and she mewls, her nails biting into his arms. Everything else melts away until he’s aware of nothing but their desperate panting and the friction between them.   

They find release at the same moment, their sweat damp foreheads pressed together.

They’re both silent for a long while. In the dark of Sansa’s solar, there’s nothing but the sound of their shallow breathing and the frantic pounding of Robb’s heart. Is it guilt that keeps them both so quiet? Regret? They lay side by side, limbs hopelessly tangled together. She doesn’t pull away and it gives him a small sense of reassurance.

_Yes, I love you._

—-

“I love you, Sansa,” he says over dinner, when they’re alone. He’s sure that she must already know. He’s her brother, of course he loves her. But he’s unable to forget the day when she had to ask.  _Do you still love me?_ The memory stings like a slap.

She smiles.

—-

Robb drags his fingers across Sansa’s stomach, tracing invisible patterns on her bare skin. He runs a finger up and over and the curve of her breast, stopping to lightly trace her nipple. Sansa squirms, laughing and throwing one of her furs at him. She turns to crawl away from him, but he catches her ankle and pulls her back to him while she squeals.

Her smile and laughter have returned to her, which gives Robb more reason to smile than anything else.

 In spite of everything, his sister loves fiercely. She didn’t lose herself in the capital. She proves every day that the Lannisters didn’t steal her ability to love.

 _Broken,_ Sansa had called herself once. A thousand things were broken. The realm. His home. His family.

She blushes scarlet as Robb kisses each cheek, her forehead, her nose, and her lips. “Do you still love me?” he asks between the kisses.

“Yes,” she breathes , their faces so close that their noses touch. He can smell lemon cakes on her breath.

There are so many things that need fixing. Sansa isn’t one of them. 

 


End file.
